


Named Time and Place

by qkind



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ancient Greece, Ancient Olympic Games, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:34:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29083224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qkind/pseuds/qkind
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley both show up for the Ancient Olympics, and come to their first ever arrengement (of a sort).
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Named Time and Place

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jibber_jabber](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jibber_jabber/gifts).



> Happy Chocolate Box jibber_jabber! I, too, loved historical scenes with these two. I hope you enjoy this :D

Olympia, 24 BC. 

Aziraphale had been at the temple for quite a while now. He’d often read about the Games - it was a popular topic amongst the poets - and thought it was time to visit the real thing before humanity moved on from it and he lost his chance. Alas, as these things usually happened, he’d gotten distracted by food. An impressive one hundred cows - one to appease the Gods, and the other ninety-nine to appease some very hungry humans, and an angel. 

Once he’d been temporarily sated, he made it to the stadium. He was looking for a seat when he spotted a dark figure amongst the sea of light-coloured tunics and he lit up in recognition.

He would deny to everyone and Herself the thrill he felt at meeting the demon Crowley so soon after the last time in Rome. They'd had dinner together then, followed by more drinking, and to be perfectly honest Aziraphale didn't remember all the details of that night but for the first time in his existence he'd needed to sober up to make it back to his rooms. All of this to say, it had been a jolly good time.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale called, and after spotting him, Crowley glared at the man sitting closest to him until he felt the very urgent need to go to the market and acquire a goat.

Aziraphale sat down in the recently vacated space next to the demon, which had a perfect view of the arena and even a cushion left by the previous owner in his haste. As an afterthought, Aziraphale made sure the goat would be cheap, without need to haggle for it.

In the pit, two naked men, oiled skin shining, muscles bulging, grabbed at each other with violent enthusiasm.

“Reminds me of the Garden, a bit,” said Aziraphale, picking at some olives that he’d brought. He offered the plate to the demon, but he waved him off.

“This reminds you of the Garden? That one just broke the other one's arm!” Crowley waved approximately at the pair, who were so entangled it was difficult to decide who was the _one_ and who was the _other one_ in the situation. Incidentally, it didn't much matter; they each had broken each other's right humerus.

The clamour of the crowd drowned the wrestlers' pained grunts. Crowley managed to ignore Aziraphale’s wide, hopeful eyes for about half a minute, after which broken bones got miraculously (demonically?) mended. Nobody noticed the wrestlers’ sudden confusion, since it didn’t show for long - they would wonder about the lack of pain later but they needed to press the advantage of fully working extremities now. As if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, two ethereal beings turned their attention back to the fight. 

No thanks were given, no _oh-you’re-too-kind_ pat on the shoulder. It would not have been appreciated.

“Bit strange for an angel to be here,” began Crowley. “Humans beating each other up, or cheering for other humans who are beating each other up. My reports are writing themselves!”

“And what do your reports say about all the soldiers that are competing here instead of fighting wars?”

“A matter of time before they’re at it again. And before you ask, the sacrifices to the Gods are a mere excuse to indulge in gluttony, and the art is driven by - and inspiring - lust.”

Aziraphale sent a mildly reproachful look Crowley’s way, before turning back to the wrestlers. One was now kneeling with his face pressed to the ground, while the other twisted his arm behind his back and pressed down on him with his whole body. He decided not to fight the point about art since he wasn’t sure he’d be able to. After all, he’d been the one to bring up the Garden first.

“I quite enjoyed the veal, actually,” he said instead. “And the wine.”

“Hm. They're getting better at it, aren't they?” Suddenly Crowley was serving them both said wine on dark tinted chalices, and after thinking he’d fancy some, a platter with nuts and cheese appeared in the space between them.

Aziraphale smiled gratefully at him and helped himself to some nuts.

“Does this ever end?” he asked.

“Any moment now, I presume,” answered Crowley, who had an eye for spotting when someone was at the limit of what pain they could endure.

Indeed, the wrestler who had previously been pushing his opponent into the dirt was now struggling to raise his hand in the air. He managed, and at the sight of the two extended fingers, the judges declared his defeat.

“Well,” said Aziraphale, “I think I prefer the theatre. Sport drags out too much for me.”

“If they bring out the horses now I'm off to convince some Romans to set fires to the tents of their political enemies.” Crowley shuddered, but didn’t leave. Instead, he refilled his already empty cup.

“Still, it’s good as a holiday. I might come back in four years.”

“Or I could make sure that all the exits of the stadium are blocked except for the one furthest from the tents…”

“Do you think you’ll come again for the next games? We might, well. We might see each other here.”

Crowley stopped thinking about minor and major annoyances he could cause, and looked at Aziraphale. No human or Hell devised torture would get him to admit that the last time he’d met this particular angel had been the most fun he could remember having on Earth or, indeed, in Heaven. Hell, of course, wasn’t worth mentioning. The idea that they could meet again on purpose, as opposed to bumping against each other occasionally as two immortal beings posted on the same planet are wont to do eventually, was unsettlingly pleasant.

“I might, at that. Might come. I could be busy, I suppose. Or I could be free.” 

“It’s a date then!” Aziraphale took a long drink to mask his smile, and turned back towards the arena where, indeed, horse-pulled chariots were beginning to enter. Crowley felt what he cautiously described as hope and wasn’t sure he liked it. He glared at the horses. 

He swallowed reflexively a few times, and with a weak voice repeated, “It’s a date.”


End file.
